


Purple Haze

by butterscotchnotebook



Series: Sexual Tendencies [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Desmond smokes weed, I've been meaning to write more, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Loosely based off a headcanon I found on tumblr, M/M, One Night Stands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, mention of drugs, though only briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7204022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterscotchnotebook/pseuds/butterscotchnotebook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaun is stressed.<br/>Desmond wants a smoking buddy.<br/>The two meet in a café in Italy and hit it off. And later, Shaun has a try at smoking good old fashioned cannabis. Hilarity and two insatiable cases of high and horny ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple Haze

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing Assassin's Creed II lately, and the insatiable urge to write porn took hold and wouldn't let the fuck go. So enjoy a quickie darlings!

"Hell, I hate this damned job..." Shaun grumbles as he grips the steering wheel of his car, a shiny black Convertible, a little too harshly. His glasses are perched just a tad askew, lenses darkened to compensate for the bright sunlight. Thank god for transitions lenses.  
His clothes are casual, but his work?  
Best not to put it to paper. There are people willing to kill, literally and figuratively, to know who and what he works for.  
He spots a small café with some, admittedly, interesting decorations, and he decides to stop and take a peek. Lucy could wait a few more minutes. If she couldn't, sucks to be her, because she was going to have to.  
Shaun parks his car in one of the many elaborately painted spaces (whoever put this much work into parking slots must've been really bored) and stepped out of his car, wind lapping at his skin lightly. As he strolled over the the building, hands shoved into his pockets, he sees a person painting on the wall to the right of the quaint building's entryway, earbuds in, one hanging loose. It was as if he was expecting someone to talk to him.  
Shaun guessed that people had. A small child went to tug at his simple black t-shirt, and when the boy looked at the toddler and smiled, the kid had gone bonkers. The child began speaking in rapid fire babbles of Italian, to which the older of the two simply nodded and smiled.  
The child was eventually picked up by his mother, whom apologized profusely for her daughter disturbing his work. He shook his head, scribbling something down on a notepad.  
Shaun still felt intrigued by this odd fellow, so he strides over to simply watch the kid paint. It's a very nice replica of Starry Night.  
He walks inside the building. The décor of the interior is similar to that of a Starbucks, but it feels so much more... What word was it? Homely? Yeah, that seemed to fit.  
The man- or rather, boy- at the counter looked very much like the painter outside, but with much longer (and lighter) hair and skin. Seemed much younger too.  
Shaun guessed the two were brothers at least.  
"Hello sir! What can I get you this morning?" The boy asks with shockingly perfect English.  
"I'm new; what would you recommend?"  
The boy ponders on that thought.  
"Caramella makes the best caramel lattes."  
"That's one hell of a coincidence, to be named Caramella and make good caramel lattes," Shaun laughs. The boy joins him.  
"My brother and I tease her about it all the time," the boy says with a roll of his eyes. "So, one caramel latte?"  
"Yes, please."  
"Whipped cream?" Shaun nods.  
"Caramel drizzle as well?" Another nod.  
"You remind me of my mom. So much sugar." A chuckle sounds from the two as the boy at the counter processes the order. "That'll be 3.10 €." Shaun pays the boy and waits by the pickup counter. In just a few moments, his latte is ready.  
"Oh, by the way, I would advise against a window seat. My brother noticed us chatting and I think he assumed you were flirting with me..." The boy scuttles off. Shaun glances towards the window and sees the artist glaring daggers at him. So he had been right in the assumption that they were brothers.  
Shaun took up a booth in the corner. He idly scrolls through the texts his friends from back home had sent him. He misses his friends, and all too suddenly finds himself feeling slightly more sad than when he came.  
A tap at the table dragged his attention to a man with sun-kissed skin and deep brown eyes.  
"Is it alright if I sit here?"  
Shaun nodded without much of a thought. The man sat down and just looked at him. He studied Shaun like a divine object, as if he was something akin to an amazing artifact newly discovered. And then all of a sudden, a question pops out of the guy's mouth.  
"Do you smoke?"  
Shaun spluttered in indignation, struggling to form a coherent sentence. He realized he wasn't going to succeed and instead shook his head.  
"Huh. You seem like you need it," He added with a sip of his coffee. "You're very stressed. I can tell by the way you're giving me that look."  
It was the look that was caught between sarcastic and just plain annoyed. No matter how he thought of it, this guy was right. Not about needing a smoke (of what he assumed was a cigarette), but the stress.  
"I've got something that'll help you a ton. Meet me at my place later and I'll show you. You'll like it, promise." He pulled out a notepad and scribbled down an address and phone number with the pen Shaun realized was pick-pocketed from him. The page is ripped away from the rest and handed to Shaun, along with the pen. The guy gets up and starts for the door.  
"Never caught your name, by the way," Shaun says before the man can leave.  
"Desmond. Desmond Miles."

~~~<@

Shaun raps at the door with a nervous frown. His eyes dart nervously about the environment. It's about average, just a touch on the upper class side. It was definitely a nicer complex that Shaun lived in back home.  
The door opened to reveal a drowsy looking Desmond, eyes faintly bloodshot, a lazy smile plastered on his sun-kissed face. He wore a hoodie that was unzipped (revealing, to Shaun's dismay (and pleasure) that he opted out of a shirt) and baggy looking sweatpants that were an ugly shade of green. The socks he wore were mismatched, one blue and the other green.  
"Hey man! Honestly didn't expect you to come," Desmond said with something between a laugh and a yawn. "Come in, I'll go get that stuff I told you about." He stepped aside to allow Shaun to enter.  
When he stepped in, there was an undeniably strong smell of smoke. It wasn't one that lingered; this smell was fresh, and Shaun began to think this had been a very bad idea. But it was too late now to back out with his tail between his legs. (Like Becca always teased him about. That was one time and it had been justified!)  
Shaun had settled himself onto the sofa when Desmond came back. In his hands was a box of some sort, and something glass that looked like a cross between a vase and a pipe.  
He sat down by Shaun and opened the box. Inside it was a plastic ziplock of something green and quite a few pieces of paper cut to specific sizes.  
Shaun now realized just what he'd gotten himself into.  
In his mind he was getting ready to leave and never look back but he found himself still sitting there, staring dumbly at the contents of the box.  
"How new are you to this?" Judging by the poor Brit's baffled expression, it was safe to assume that he was completely new. Poor little thing.  
"Here's a weed how-to: first thing you wanna do is take some of the weed and just spread it in a line on the paper. Kinda like making a taco." Desmond demonstrated the instruction. "Then you just roll it up like so," he said, his voice drifting as he focused on his work. "Light the fatter end and smoke from the skinnier one." He took a long drag from the roll (Desmond called it a blunt) and puffed the smoke in small "o" shapes. Desmond passed Shaun the blunt. "Try it."  
And Shaun complied. He tried to do what Desmond had and after a short drag he was seized by a fit of coughing. The man patted his hand in steady rhythm while he coughed.  
"It's fine, you don't have to go so much your first time. I've been doing this for quite a long time," Desmond chuckled. Shaun simply glared at him.  
"Hey, don't look at me like that!" He laughed and Shaun joined him too, a new bliss swamping his mind and clouding his stress. He took another drag, careful not to over exert himself.  
"Sharing is caring," Desmond said as he plucked the blunt from Shaun's hand.  
"Shit, I never asked your name."  
"It's Shaun."  
"I had a cousin named Shaun. He went to prison on murder charges. Haven't seen him since I was in fourth grade," Desmond said with a shrug.  
The two fell into a silence, simply passing the joint back and forth.

~~~<@

They now sat on the couch, leaning on one another high as kites, with several empty wrappers and bags of chips (and a box of pizza) all sitting about the coffee table.  
Shaun was still quite hungry. Not even those bags of chips and three slices of whatever pizza they had ordered (he couldn't remember, or really bring himself to care) hadn't satisfied him.  
He looked up at Desmond and his stomach was all butterflies as an idea suddenly intruded and just wouldn't go away (and it went straight to his dick.)  
His companion had very full lips. There was a scar on them and Shaun ached to pull it between his teeth and bruise those wonderfully full and kissable lips purple.  
He hadn't noticed he was kissing him until a moment after it had happened. The other seemed not to mind; welcomed the gesture even.  
Tongues and teeth clashed as the two fought for control. The parted for a moment, panting for breath and very, very horny. They kissed again, hands roaming until Shaun's found solace fisting at Desmond's short hair and the other's had made to grab his ass. He was already straining in his jeans, and he had honestly just wanted to fuck this man into the ground until he screamed his name for all to hear.  
When the next parted, the Brit shoved that accursed hoodie Desmond had been wearing off and had hooked two fingers under the waistband of those ugly green sweatpants. He left angry red marks on the soft skin on his companion's neck. All Desmond could do was moan. It was a very pretty sound, Shaun realized, and he decided he'd like to hear it more.  
He yanked the atrocious garment off, palming the stiff bulge of Desmond's cock roughly through the fabric of his boxers. He let a curse drop from his lips and a wanton moan fall. He was desperate to fuck (or be fucked) by this man who now had his dick practically on the palm of his hand.  
The boxers were yanked off soon as well, exposing his hardened cock to the harsh, cold air of the flat. Shaun, slowly and deliberately, kissed the the head lightly. He wrapped his lips around it and began to slowly work his mouth on Desmond, who could only watch and swear and moan with the pleasure from the blowjob he was receiving.  
Shaun was no stranger to sucking dick. It was something he liked, both giving and receiving it.  
He lapped up the bead of pre-cum that had gathered upon the head and ravished in the way Desmond had caught himself mid-shout. He pulled off with a wet noise, capturing the Italian man's lips in a dominating kiss. He melted under Shaun like putty, a shuddering moan passing through his lips.  
When Desmond let him go, he shed himself of all his clothes, throwing them to the side like a toy that a child had gotten bored playing with.  
"Lube is in the drawer on the coffee table," Desmond said, gesturing to the table with a jerk of his head. Shaun located the drawer easily, pulling out the bottle of lubricant and squirting some in his hands. He slicked up his first two fingers and pressed them to Desmond's entrance. The man jolted at the cool sensation. When Shaun pushed a finger in, Desmond cried out and bit his lip. The Brit kissed him sweetly as he pressed in, more shakes and moans falling from those gorgeous, full lips.  
Prepping Desmond was done easily enough. Shaun took some more of the slimy lube and began to slick up his dick.  
"You still want to do this?" Shaun asked with genuine concern.  
"Yes, oh my god, please," Desmond breathed.  
"I'm just making sure you were still okay, and-"  
"Shaun, shut up and fuck me," Desmond ordered with an angry scowl.  
So he wanted to play rough, hm?  
Two could play at that game.  
Shaun lined himself up and slammed into Desmond, who let out a short yelp of pain.  
"Hey asshole, that hurts you know!"  
"Maybe if you hadn't been so pushy I would've been nicer," Shaun whispered harshly as he began thrusting into the tight, warm space that was his companion's hole. They crashed their lips together in a hot, messy kiss, muffling the sounds that both men couldn't help making.  
Desmond's moans went up an octave when Shaun hit a particular spot. He begged for him to hit it again, and Shaun dutifully obeyed, watching the Italian man's face screw up in bliss as he abused the bundle of nerves. In just a few short moments, Desmond practically shouted as he came, white-hot ropes of cum staining his torso. Shaun followed not too long after.  
The pair basked in the afterglow of sex with blissful sighs and tired, bleary expressions. Shaun pulled out and made to grab his shirt from the floor, cleaning Desmond's chest up (he would later find himself very angry about this, insisting that Desmond had done it) and tossed it away once done. He found a blanket draped over the end of the sofa. He took it and covered them both with it.  
Neither exchanged a word before drifting peacefully into sleep's embrace.


End file.
